The Fifteenth Of February
by mattsloved1
Summary: After being gone for three days, John comes home to a lot of surprises in the flat. A birthday present for Serinah!


**Happy Birthday Serinah!**

**Thanks to MapleLeafCameo for looking over this for me. I don't own them so I can't profit from writing about them.**

* * *

John pulled his key out of the lock and walked over the threshold. Closing the door behind him, he took a moment to breathe deeply and relax. Finally, after helping Harry move for three days, he was back home. The two siblings had got along rather well but John had soon found himself missing the force of nature that was his flatmate and, now, lover. Texts had let John know Sherlock had kept busy with a case that had ended last night.

Now, with another two days before he was due back at the clinic, the doctor was hoping for a little bit of calm before the next case arrived. He had taken the time to send a text to Lestrade asking for silence and Mycroft as well, informing 'the government' that a visit would not be appreciated until Monday of the next week. All that was left was Mrs. Hudson.

The lady in question poked her head out of her kitchen door. Seeing John, she smiled and made her way into the foyer.

"John dear, glad to see you back," she reached up to pull 'her boy' into a hug.

Returning the affection, John dropped his travelling bag on the floor and gave the small woman a squeeze.

"How have you been? I see the second floor is still here so I know he hasn't blown anything up," John teased, as he pulled back.

Mrs. Hudson chuckled, "Oh you. No, he's been rather quiet today. Went out to finish the paperwork with that Detective and came back with his hands full of bags."

John's brow furrowed, "Did he do the shopping?"

"I do remember seeing one or two bags from the nearby grocer's but he must have been struggling with a dozen or more as he made his way up the stairs."

After living with the gangly genius for almost five years, John could only imagine what might be taking up residence in their flat, especially if Molly had been in a giving mood.

John braced himself. "Well I'd better be getting up there then. See what's going on."

Mrs. Hudson patted John on the arm. "You have a good night, dear."

She began to make her way back to her flat when she turned around once more. "Oh! I meant to tell you. My niece is coming to get me in an hour for a family gathering this weekend. I won't be back until Monday afternoon."

Happy that fate seemed to be on his side, but not wanting to seem excited, John fixed a forlorn look on his face. "We'll miss you but have a lovely time."

Being wiser than many people gave her credit for, she smiled. "All right, young man, you can remove that 'sad' look. I only tell you because now you two won't have to worry about being quiet the next few days. Not that you boys do anyway most times."

Ears turning red at the tip, John mumbled a response and hurried up the stairs as Mrs. Hudson chuckled below.

John opened the door that lead into the living room and stopped. His left hand relaxed until the bag it held dropped to the floor and his mouth took on the shape of an O as his eyes moved rapidly to take in everything.

The flat that had been a mess when he left, and he'd expected worse with a case during his absence, was clean. Not just clean but clean to the point of windows that seemed to sparkle. Around the room, hanging off of things, like the mantle or the side of the tables, were hearts cut out of red, pink or white paper. In the middle of the large table they shared was at least two dozen assorted roses. Jazz music played quietly in the background and two place settings were arranged over a white linen tablecloth. A half dozen heart balloons sat on his chair.

For a moment John thought he might have entered another dimension and was tempted to step back, close the door and come in again. However, a sound in the kitchen snapped him out of his stunned trance. Shaking his head, he picked up his bag and set it on the floor by the sofa before removing his jacket and laying it on the nearby armrest. Looking around the room once more, John took a deep breath and then made his way into the kitchen.

Once again he was shocked by the state of the room he now surveyed. It seemed the mysterious cleaning elves had attacked this area as well as the living room. A tall figure had his back to John as he washed a dirty pan. Set out on the kitchen table were dishes of potatoes, carrots, rolls and a roast. John had once told Sherlock the dish he missed most was his mum's roast and it seemed to have been put into the keep section of his Mind Palace. Also on the table was a large brownie in the shape of a heart.

_Well, _thought John, _hearts are definitely a recurring theme. _

Not wanting to startle Sherlock, who was clearly focused on his task to the point of being unaware of his surroundings, John cleared his throat.

Sherlock's back quickly stiffened as he turned around. Seeing his flatmate, the detective smiled, "Ah, John! Good to see you're punctual!"

Still a bit at a loss, John tried to gather his thoughts. "Yes, the train was on time. Not too crowded after all."

About to ask what had caused the explosion of hearts and colour in their flat, John opened his mouth to speak. However, no words came out since his lips were soon covered with a pair determined to steal all the breath in his lungs.

Too soon Sherlock pulled back and began to take the food into the living room. John's mouth hung open once more as he grabbed the back of a chair to keep himself upright. By the time the table was completely set, John had slowly made his way to an empty seat and sat down.

Once Sherlock joined him, he decided to keep his questions until later and enjoy the meal in front of him, as well as the man who was currently wearing the purple shirt John loved best. Yes, he was determined to take advantage of the food and view.

When dessert was brought out, John decided it was time to find out what was going on.

"So," he began as his partner cut them each a piece of brownie. "What brought all of this on?"

"This?" Sherlock queried innocently, as he sat down once more.

"Yes, the hearts, the bouquet of flowers, the balloons. _This_," he repeated, lifting the sweet to his mouth.

"It was brought to my attention, while you were gone, that yesterday was a day meant for lovers. I had begun to dismiss the idea but some people thought it prudent to tell me a person who truly appreciated you would take advantage of the day by showing you your worth."

Sherlock nervously poured more wine into his glass before taking another drink.

"Once I was finished with the case, I came home and looked up acceptable practices used on the fourteenth of February. After finishing paperwork with Lestrade this morning, I went shopping and came home to make certain the flat was cleaned thoroughly."

Touched, John sat back for a moment to have a think. Considering the company he had kept the day before, it was quite possibly a Yarder who had told Sherlock about society's expectations on Valentine's Day. And, if John were still a betting man, he would guess Anderson and Donovan had been having some fun at Sherlock's expense.

Wanting to make certain there was no misunderstandings between the two of them, John spoke. "Well I have to say dinner was lovely, the music appreciated and it's nice to know what all of the flat surfaces look like at one time. Some of the other things I could live without."

It took less than a second for Sherlock to take the bait. "Some?"

Trying not to smile, John continued, "Yes. I mean the flowers are lovely but they won't last more than a day or two before its time to chuck them in the bin. I could do without the balloons since I'm always afraid one of them is going to pop when I'm beside it. Hearts, while everywhere at this time of year, well let's be honest, they aren't exactly anatomically correct. Are they?"

Waiting for his words to be taken in and processed, John cut himself another small piece of brownie. He wasn't disappointed. Sherlock's face moved from confused to understanding before settling on delight as he sought out John's eyes once more.

"Anderson and Donovan are idiots," he happily announced.

"Yes, they are," John agreed. "Like I said before though, a dinner and clean up once in a while wouldn't go amiss. However, I have no need for such frivolous things and happen to like the way a certain consulting detective treats me." He paused for effect, "Especially..."

Leaning forward, Sherlock echoed, "Especially?"

"Especially when he wears a certain purple shirt I love to run my fingers over, taking the time to tease his nipples so they stand out against the material. I also like to slowly pull the shirt out of his black trousers before it comes unbuttoned and lies crumpled on the floor."

Sherlock swallowed as John came over to stand at his side.

Running his hand through the riotous curls, John leaned down to whisper. "While I have every intention of doing just what I mentioned, I must be honest and say I have other plans for you this weekend as well."

Leaning into the touch, and trying not to purr out loud, Sherlock closed his eyes. "You do?"

"Oh yes, after I remove your clothes you will only be allowed one item of covering this weekend when we are not in bed."

John took an earlobe into his mouth and sucked. After hearing his lover's moan he pulled back with a smile. "Have you any idea of what item I might mean?"

Fighting against the need to beg John for more, Sherlock panted, "The sheet?"

Running the back of his fingers across a silk covered nipple, John kissed one of Sherlock's temples.

"Mmm...Yes, the sheet. The one you love to tempt me with ever since I confessed how much it turned me on when I found out that's all you wore to Buckingham Palace."

Pulling away, John ignored the whimper torn from the figure in front of him. He took a moment to kick off his shoes before slowly backing towards the door that lead up to their bedroom.

Like a moth to a flame, Sherlock followed. His eyes grew darker as he watched John pull off his jumper to show a buttoned up shirt underneath.

In no time both men were in the bedroom, their clothes littering the stairs and floor they had travelled and more than once that weekend John was glad for their landlady's absence, as the sheet spent more time off of Sherlock's body then it did covering it.


End file.
